


By All Appearances

by team_turtleneck



Series: Succession Femslash [2]
Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Confessions, Dialogue, F/F, Femslash February, Infidelity, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Season/Series 02, Rough Sex, but like not not hate sex either, not hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/team_turtleneck/pseuds/team_turtleneck
Summary: “So this is-”“Yes,” Marcia says. “Will you ask questions the whole time or can you be quiet?”Rhea feels her skin flush starting at her shins and ending at her throat.
Relationships: Rhea Jarrell/Marcia Roy
Series: Succession Femslash [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138832
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Femslash February, Ladies Bingo 2020





	By All Appearances

**Author's Note:**

> So I read an interview with Holly Hunter where she said Rhea didn’t sleep with Logan. I couldn’t resist a little post-canon confession.

Rhea spots Marcia in the ballroom of Los Angeles’ most opulent hotel at another lavish, self-congratulatory media gathering. Rhea tries to catch Marcia’s eye, stares at her as she watches a key speaker drone on.

Marcia had tried to humiliate her, but Rhea had seen through Marcia’s threat. Marcia did not want to lose the power she had gained with Logan, and no new side piece would replace her if she had a way to prevent it.

But Marcia need not have worried. Rhea had let Marcia think what she wanted, had let her come to a convenient conclusion. Rhea should leave it alone, but she feels the need to confess. 

After applauding for the speaker handing the mic to the next blowhard, Marcia glances in her direction. Marcia’s eyes narrow immediately, just enough for Rhea to see the expression, not enough for Logan to notice.

Rhea gestures toward an exit door with a nod of her head and an eyebrow raised in question. Marcia scowls a moment before she excuses herself and strides toward the exit, making her way to the lobby. 

Rhea knows Marcia would be satisfied to take another chunk out of her. She assumes it’s the only reason Marcia complies. 

Rhea follows shortly after.

“Marcia,” she says in greeting.

“What is it, Rhea?” Marcia asks, and she’s clearly annoyed. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“You should know I didn’t sleep with your husband.”

“I don’t believe you,” Marcia says.

“It’s true,” Rhea says. Maybe this was a bad idea. Why even broach this subject? Why not just enjoy the odd glance of Marcia looking stunning in her emerald green gown?

“But he wanted to sleep with you,” Marcia says, both statement and question.

“...Yes,” Rhea says. “But he’s not my type, if you catch my drift.”

Marcia is out of patience it seems. She responds as soon as the last word leaves Rhea’s mouth. “What are you talking about?” 

Rhea sighs and considers her words. “ _You_ are more my type than he is,” Rhea says, speaking slowly, her brows raised in a _get it?_ expression.

“Ah, I see,” Marcia says. “You’re an excellent liar.”

Rhea smiles, a bit sheepish. “You don’t get to be a CEO without knowing how to massage the narrative a bit.”

“That’s nothing to be proud of,” Marcia says. “You live your life as a lie. Does that suit you?”

That one stings. Rhea didn’t have much choice. No queer middle-aged woman would be tolerated at an executive level. The Pierce board could fly their ally flags all they wanted, but besides Nan and Naomi, Rhea knew they would not have backed her—and the Roys certainly wouldn’t have. Appearance was everything to old money and new.

“Discretion is necessary in my line of work,” Rhea says, and she doesn’t mean to sound wounded, but she sees the recognition on Marcia’s face.

“That sounds terribly lonely.” Marcia’s tone is softer now, not pitying, no, but maybe... understanding? Her scowl has dissipated. 

Rhea doesn’t respond. Her chest feels hollow, and she regrets this entire conversation. She wants to slink away.

“You have a room upstairs, yes?” 

Rhea stares at her, mouth parted. She doesn’t speak, but after studying Marcia’s face for deception, she nods. Marcia glances over her shoulder toward the ballroom. Rhea finds herself led by her elbow toward the elevators, and Marcia releases her to press the button.

Rhea glances toward Marcia in the elevator and takes in her profile. She’s lovely, regal. Rhea wants to go along without question, but she can’t help herself.

“So this is-”

“Yes,” Marcia says. “Will you ask questions the whole time or can you be quiet?”

Rhea feels her skin flush starting at her shins and ending at her throat. “I can be quiet,” she says.

“Good.”

Rhea slips the card in the door to her room and ushers Marcia inside. Marcia wastes no time. She grips Rhea’s jaw with one hand and pulls her in to a bruising kiss. Rhea is startled and it takes her a moment to catch up before she responds. 

Her fingers slide over Marcia’s ridiculously expensive dress, settling on her waist as Marcia backs Rhea toward the bed and shoves her down onto the mattress. Rhea lands and all the breath leaves her lungs. Marcia is quick to push Rhea’s dress up to her waist, and Rhea squirms to accommodate her. As Marcia removes her underwear, Rhea closes her eyes for a moment, trying to stifle her surging need because it’s very possible she may come the second Marcia touches her.

Marcia is graceful in everything she does. Rhea marvels. Even hiking up her own dress and climbing onto the bed to straddle Rhea’s thighs, she moves like a dancer. Rhea wants to ask her if she did ballet. More importantly, she wants to ask Marcia what the fuck has happened that they’ve landed here in her room so fluidly. Marcia speaks first.

“Did you want me, before?” She runs her hand up the outside of Rhea’s thigh. “When you were trying to swindle my husband?”

Rhea won’t look Marcia in the eye, but takes Marcia’s hand and presses it between her thighs. “You tell me,” Rhea says. 

“I see,” Marcia says as her fingers easily slip inside.

Rhea expects Marcia to fuck her like she’s punishing her, punishing her for her lies, for Logan’s sins. Hard and fast suits her just fine. Marcia can take her apart and put her back together and Rhea will thank her for it. She chews on her lower lip as she waits. 

Marcia keeps her depth shallow, and her hand moves slowly, her motions measured and deliberate. It’s like whiplash. Rhea is braced for something that doesn’t come. Marcia is always a surprise, a puzzle she could never hope to solve.

Rhea gasps as Marcia’s thumb grazes over her, fleeting, and she wants to take, to chase the feeling. Marcia’s pace inside her is achingly slow. Rhea twists against the bed and groans as Marcia’s fingers find the perfect angle, moving leisurely as glacial ice. It feels like Marcia is learning her. Marcia stares at her unblinking, and Rhea can’t take it. This pace is thoughtful, caring even, and she doesn’t deserve it. She needs more.

“Harder,” Rhea says, keeping her voice low because she has been told to keep quiet and defying beautiful women in bed is not a habit she’s about to start.

“What’s that, Rhea?” Marcia says. Her voice could do Rhea in even when she’s mocking her, but Rhea still narrows her eyes.

Marcia thrusts in hard, and Rhea exhales a sharp, desperate breath, and Marcia once again resumes her gentle motions. 

Fuck her and her games. Rhea grits her teeth, moves her hips toward Marcia, trying to spur her on, but it’s fruitless. She’ll have to ask. To hell with it—dignity is overrated.

“Harder... please,” Rhea says a little louder. Her eyes are closed now so she can’t see Marcia’s delight, but she can hear it in her voice.

“You want me to be rough with you?” 

Rhea nods. She wants to feel Marcia tomorrow, to carry the memory in her body. She wants Marcia to consume her. 

“Is that what you deserve?”

Rhea feels Marcia shift, feels a hand press into the bed next to her shoulder. She dares to open her eyes. Marcia’s expression makes her shiver. 

“Yes,” Rhea says.

“Then that’s what I’ll give you.”

Marcia moves inside her, fast and rough, leaning over Rhea to watch her. Rhea clamps her hand over her mouth and stifles a loud moan. This feels right. Under the circumstances, at least. 

Rhea imagines Marcia giving her her hurt and anger, letting it pour into her actions. She grabs two handfuls of the duvet tight in her fists and moves her hips to meet Marcia’s thrusts, increasing the pressure, and she will definitely feel this tomorrow. Just the thought of it ratchets up her desire until she feels like she might burn—a solar flare, hot and bright. Marcia’s expression is a mix of concentration and want, and her entire focus is Rhea. Nothing could be more thrilling. 

Rhea tilts her head back, exposing her throat, and Marcia takes the bait. She bites along Rhea’s neck, sucking a bruise into her skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. That makes Rhea pulse between her thighs, makes her cry out. She asked for this, but she may not last long. 

Marcia laughs against her skin and the sound is like liquid moving over her. Rhea has never heard a laugh quite like Marcia’s. “You are always like this?”

Rhea feels Marcia pull out all the way, then slide back in, and for a moment, it’s a tight fit. 

Rhea’s mouth falls open as she keens. She manages a few words, panting for air between them. “Not... always.”

She threads her fingers into Marcia’s glorious hair, tight at the nape of her neck, and pulls her in to a kiss, crushing their lips together. Rhea licks into her mouth and Marcia moans as Rhea bites down on her lip, but she won’t be outdone. Marcia moves her thigh between Rhea’s, using the leverage to drive her forward, and Rhea rocks upward with each thrust.

“Christ, Marcia,” Rhea says, the words shaken from her throat, and Rhea really wants to get Marcia’s dress off, but she’s nearly there. 

“Touch yourself,” Marcia says, and Rhea knows Marcia has the skill to do it herself. She’s been waiting for it, waiting for Marcia to grind her palm against her, but Marcia just wants to watch her give in, as if she hadn’t done that enough: pleading, taking everything Marcia has, spread wide and welcoming. 

But Rhea is quick to comply, her hand pressing between them, eyes open, brazenly staring at Marcia. Marcia leans up to kneeling, and her free hand finds its way beneath her own dress. Rhea was not expecting that at all.

Watching Marcia—regal and stately Marcia—enraptured as she matches Rhea’s movements is too much, and Rhea falls into her release like she’s been pitched off a cliff. She cries out, curling in on herself as her abdomen tightens, clenching hard around Marcia’s fingers. Her orgasm rolls through her and she sucks in breaths between clenched teeth, twisting against the bed. 

She hears Marcia gasp above her and it’s enough to push Rhea higher again.

“Please, oh god,” Rhea says, her voice strained, and she doesn’t know who she is begging and for what. She sees Marcia smiling down at her, pleased, not mocking. Rhea’s fingers move in quick, practiced strokes, Marcia’s fingers so good inside her, and Rhea shakes and whimpers as she comes again.

She stills Marcia’s hand when she’s had enough. Marcia withdraws and collapses beside her—a truly un-Marcia-like move—and Rhea laughs lightly, true delight coursing through her, almost giddy from the absurdity of it all.

“This was a good idea,” Rhea says.

“I agree,” Marcia says, and she lets herself smile, closed-mouthed. “Though I may not be able to move my wrist for the rest of the night.”

“Well your sacrifice is appreciated.”

They breathe in silence. Their absence, particularly Marcia’s, will not go unnoticed. 

“What will you say when you get back?” Rhea asks. She doesn’t really care. She would love to watch all the Roy jaws drop as they walk in together, slightly rumpled and glowing.

Marcia sighs. “I’ll take a car home. I’ll give an excuse later.”

Rhea nods. She’ll return to her table and pretend she went out for air, but Marcia doesn’t ask. 

Marcia sits up. Rhea doesn’t get up, but she pushes the hem of her dress down to mid-thigh for a little modesty. As if Marcia didn’t just have nearly half of her hand inside her moments ago.

Marcia stands and straightens her dress. She takes a pen from the desk nearby and scratches along the hotel stationary then heads for the door.

“I left you my phone number,” she says, her tone casual. “For lonely nights.”

“As long as I get to touch you next time,” Rhea says. She can’t fathom why Marcia would seek her out again, but then she remembers something about looking at gift horses. Maybe it’s because Marcia could bed someone Logan couldn’t.

Marcia smiles and gives a barely perceptible nod before she pulls open the door and walks through.

Rhea sits up and she is pleasantly sore. She grins to herself as she moves toward the bathroom to fix her hair in the mirror. She prods the bruise Marcia left on her skin and reaches for her concealer, but only applies a thin layer. Let her tablemates wonder where she really was.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss some feedback my way if you are so inclined.


End file.
